


Hailstorm

by UniverseOnHerShoulders



Series: Prompt Fills [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, whouffaldi, whouffle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 18:23:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6435460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniverseOnHerShoulders/pseuds/UniverseOnHerShoulders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She'd only let him come shopping with her to shut him up, if she was honest. That and the fact he had a tendency to dismantle parts of her flat if she left him alone. They've just about survived browsing, buying, and bagging - but how will they cope when an unexpected weather event throws them together and forces Clara to relinquish control of the situation?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hailstorm

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure, pure fluff. You have been warned.
> 
> Featuring BOTH Clara/Doctor ships, because why the hell not. Please keep it civil in the comments, darlings.

“Clara?” the Doctor called, his voice laden with wonder as he pressed his face to the glass of the freezer cabinet, admiring the bright colours within. “What are these?” 

She sighed a little, turning with the heavy basket – which, she noted with annoyance, he had _not_ offered to carry – to look through the glass too, cupping her hand over her eyes to see better. “Ice creams. Come on, don’t tell me Time Lords don’t have ice creams.” 

“We don’t have-” 

“ _Seriously_? Big old brains and no ice cream? What do you do when it’s hot? Just sweat quietly?”

“We don’t sweat,” he informed her absentmindedly, too distracted by the frozen goodies to get into a lesson on Time Lord biology. “We just sort of… don’t do anything. But we _do_ have air conditioning. Well, not air conditioning, thermodynamic channels that shift air between parts of the Citadel while maintaining optimum temperatures for daily function. Boring really.” He paused for a moment, then turned his gaze on her beseechingly, widening his eyes beseechingly. “Can I have one?”

“Doctor, it’s January!” Clara noted with bemusement, leaning forward and straightening his slightly-lopsided bowtie tenderly. “You can’t eat ice cream in January." 

“Why?” he asked forlornly, and the sadness in his eyes was enough to force her to capitulate, against her better judgement, to his will. 

“Fine! Fine.” she placed her shopping down carefully, rolling her eyes as she yanked the freezer open. “What do you want? Tubs, lollies, cones?” She caught the look on his face and raised a finger warningly. “You are _not_ having one of everything. Not after last time.” 

“Last time was excellent!” he protested, reaching past her for a packet of rocket lollies determinedly. “I got a lot of work done, fixed that weird noise the time rotor was making, repainted the Eye of Harmony, and cleaned up that weird section of the corridor that smelled like cheese.” 

“You didn’t sleep for a week,” Clara reminded him patiently, keeping her face carefully neutral as she attempted to chastise him. “You didn’t let _me_ sleep for most of a week. I am never taking you to Starbucks ever, _ever_ again.” 

“I liked it,” he grumbled under his breath, turning over the box of lollies and examining it studiously in order to avoid meeting her gaze. “Coffee is fun.”

“Coffee is not fun, Doctor. Nor is having to _pay_ for fifty-two cups of coffee. I had to eat instant noodles for two weeks.” 

“Oh,” he mumbled, looking down at the floor apologetically as he stashed the lollies in her basket. “Sorry.”

“Should be, spaceman.” She ruffled his hair playfully then scooped up the basket once more, disappearing down the aisle in search of the next item on her list. “Keep up!” she called over her shoulder. “And _no sonicking anything,_ I can hear you.”

Guiltily, the Doctor placed down the frozen peas he had been holding and trotted after her, looking around in wonder at the rows of neatly stacked, brightly-coloured goods. “I see why it’s called a supermarket,” he remarked, meandering after her haphazardly, distracted by product after product. “This is… well. _Super._ So many foods and veg and cold things and then clothes and flowers and… _”_  

“Doctor, it’s _just_ Tesco. Remind me why I let you come on this trip?” Clara asked with mock seriousness, and the Doctor frowned, poking his tongue out as he tried to recall her exact words. 

“Something about the value of humanity, the progression of linear space time, and- oh.” He darted forwards and took the basket from her, almost dropping it in his haste to make amends. “Oops. Sorry. Got it. My mistake.” 

Clara made a show of rolling her arms luxuriously after she was relieved of her burden, smiling happily as she linked her arm through his and walked slowly beside him, keeping hold of him in an attempt to avert further chaos, occasionally darting away to grab an essential item. “Now. No running off. Or there’ll be no dinner.” 

“Yes boss.” 

“I’m the boss now, am I?” Clara grinned up at him triumphantly, and he flushed a deep, beetroot red. 

“No! Yes. Maybe. Slightly. Sometimes. I don’t know,” he babbled nervously, suddenly at a loss for words. “You are the bossiest boss ever, I – I’ll… stop.” 

“Maybe do that, yeah,” Clara laughed and stood on tiptoes to press a feather light kiss to his cheek, beaming widely. “Now, you buying?” 

“I… I don’t have any money,” he realised sadly, patting down his pockets hopefully before conceding defeat. “Definitely no money. But I am very good at packing. Sometimes. Occasionally. As long as there’s nothing breakable in there. We don’t want a repeat of Atalantium.” 

Clara looked down at the basket, then back up to him with small smile. “Well… I think you should be fine,” she assented, quirking one eyebrow just _so_. “Just maybe be a little careful with the ice lollies. They’re precious.” 

He returned her smile, relieved at her understanding, and they stood in line at the checkout patiently, Clara keeping half an eye on the Doctor and half an eye on the slate-grey sky outside, wondering idly whether she should have brought an umbrella with them. As she supervised the packing of her shopping and paid the cashier, there was an ominous rumble, and she stepped outside with an impending sense of dread, resigning herself to the inevitable but cursing herself silently for not grabbing a jacket when they’d raced out the house. 

“Clara?” the Doctor asked worriedly, and she turned to see him frozen, stricken with uncertainty, in the entrance to the shop, glancing around him in a panic. “What was…” 

“Thunder,” she assured him, reaching over to take one of the bags from him as a second peal sounded, much louder this time, and Clara met his eyes, noticing the fear there. “It’s just thunder. Nothing alien, as far as I know. Certainly nothing dangerous. I promise. Just… come on, before anything melts.” 

“But-” 

“No buts, chin boy. Home. Now.” 

He dithered for a moment, before following her obediently across the car park, several paces behind, unusually silent for a short while, and when Clara turned to investigate the suspicious lack of chatter she found him with a lolly in his hand and a grin on his face, the worry of the thunder forgotten as he licked the multi-coloured treat cheerfully. She couldn’t help it – she burst into laughter at the sight of him, his eyes full of wonder at the human marvel of ice cream. 

“You’re a nightmare sometimes, you know that?” she asked fondly, and he grinned back at her with orange-tinged lips, running his tongue over them carefully and savouring the flavour. “We-” 

Something sharp and stinging lashed at her face, and then her neck, and she cried out at the unfamiliar sensation, her defences immediately up as she looked around them for the culprit. 

“Clara?” the Doctor asked her with concern, reaching for her hand. “What’s – _ow_. Seriously, what’s wro- _ow._ ”

More and more stings, tiny lashes as sharp as needles across her cheeks and neck, and it was then that realisation dawned: this wasn’t an attack; it was nothing more menacing than hail… an annoyance, certainly, but definitely not dangerous. Letting out a relieved laugh, she seized the Doctor’s outstretched hand and tugged on it urgently, breaking into a run as they dashed down the road in the general direction of the bus stop, their shopping bags bashing into their legs inelegantly as they sped for cover.

“Clara – _ow –_ what is this – _ow_ – your planet is – _ow_ – malfunctioning,” he gasped, looking around wildly for the source of the sharp jabbing at his skin. “ _Ow._ ” He reiterated for emphasis, raising one hand to his cheek and then examining his damp fingertips in confusion. 

“It’s not… malfunctioning,” Clara explained, embarrassingly out of breath as they turned the corner. “It’s hail.” Her jumper was soaked through already, the small pellets lashing through the small gaps in the fabric and stinging at her neck and chest painfully, a single droplet of meltwater making its way down the curve of her spine and pooling in the waistband of her jeans. 

“Hail who?” 

“Not hail anything, just hail. It’s weather, it’s like rubbish rain. It’s not even snow, it’s just frozen rain.” She clarified, her hair dripping into her eyes as they stumbled to a halt at the bus stop, finding welcome refuge under the wide silver awning. She shivered in the cold wind, pushing her damp hair off her face and securing it with a bobby pin before wrapping her arms round herself in a desperate attempt to stay warm, rocking backwards and forwards and stamping her feet. “It’s more fun if you’re inside.” 

“Being inside is _boring,_ although in this case, probably less stingy _._ Here,” the Doctor said, shrugging out of his slightly damp jacket and holding it out to her, feeling a small stab of frustration as she shook her head insistently no. “Clara, stop pretending you’re fine, you are clearly _not_ fine, you’re vibrating.” 

“I _am_ fine,” she insisted stubbornly, but she trembled involuntarily, and it was then that he sighed, stepping closer and wrapping the familiar jacket around her decisively. “T-thanks…” she muttered gratefully, blushing a little as he invaded her personal space, before taking half a step back and slipping her arms through the sleeves, breathing in the comfort of his smell. “That’s better.” 

He looked down at his companion, noting with concern the way her teeth still chattered a little, and he stepped closer, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her against his chest in an attempt to warm her. “Liar,” he whispered, and before she could open her mouth to protest, he had leant down and he was kissing her, kissing her against the cold, kissing her to show her he cared – a myriad of reasons, too numerous to fully comprehend, but all he knew in that moment was that kissing Clara Oswald was the right thing to do. When she responded to him affirmatively, kissing him back surprisingly shyly, they both became so caught up that neither of them noticed the arrival of the bus they needed, nor its departure, and neither of them noticed the hail stop or a single ray of sun shine down on the dripping wet street. 

“Oi oi!” came an uncouth voice, and they broke apart guiltily, noticing a youth in a hoodie cycling past them, cackling loudly at the sight of two adults making out like teenagers at a bus stop. 

“Whoops…” Clara murmured, burying her face in the Doctor’s chest and biting back a laugh, feeling her cheeks warm in response to the invasion of such a private moment. 

The Doctor smiled, his hand stroking her hair gently. “Feeling warmer now?” he asked with concern, tilting her head up so he could meet her gaze, and he noticed, with a rush of affection, the delicate pink shade that tinged her cheeks, the exhilaration in her eyes and the way she gasped for breath a little. 

“I don’t know,” she said coyly, biting her lip delicately as she looked up at him through her eyelashes. “Why don’t you kiss me again, just to be safe?” 

He didn’t need telling twice, his lips finding hers as his hand rested on her waist for a moment, until he realised that wasn’t enough, that he needed to be closer to her, and he trailed his fingers up her spine and moved so he could cup her cheek gently as he kissed her. 

“Doctor?” she managed after a moment, pulling away half an inch, their breath clouding between them in the freezing air. “You taste like ice lollies.”

“In a good way?” he asked nervously, and she laughed, standing on tiptoes and kissing his brow gently in a gesture of reassurance.

“Yes,” she promised. “Definitely in a good way… And well, if it wears off, we have got a whole box…”

 

* * *

 

Clara leaned her forehead on the cool windowpane, sighing softly and watching her breath mist the glass, wondering if the Doctor would be able to read a message if she wrote one. The TARDIS had materialised, with all of the Doctor’s usual navigational finesse, across the recreation ground from her flat, and she could see him making his way across the grass towards her block of flats, a bright beacon of salt-and-pepper grey hair in the darkness, his shoulders hunched against the rain as he ran. Well. The rain that wasn’t rain, the rain that was far too loud to be rain. _That_ rain. 

Moments later he stumbled through the front door, grimacing and apologetic, dripping small puddles onto her carpet. She bounded out to the hall to meet him, smiling warmly and reaching up to brush the tiny, icy specks off his coat shoulders, running her hands through his hair and laughing as dislodging a number of tiny crystals, watching his pained expression thaw into a grin as the warmth of her flat began to seep through his clothes. 

“Hail…” she whispered softly, raising her hand to cup his ice-cold cheek and brushing a thumb over the curve of his cheekbone, noting – a little smugly – how his breathing hitched as she did so. He caught her hand in his, pressing it to his lips briefly before he smiled affectionately at her, knowing the desired reply.

“Hail who?” he responded teasingly, using one freezing hand to awkwardly unbutton his sodden velvet coat, the other still held tightly in Clara’s much warmer grip, her thumb running repetitively over his knuckles in a soothing gesture.

“Hail us.” She smiled, biting her lip a little, and then she was kissing him, pushing his jacket to the floor where it pooled, damply, at their feet and was kicked aside inconsiderately as they became increasingly engrossed in one another, him pulling away first and pressing his chill lips against her throat. 

“Hail us,” he repeated quietly after a moment, kissing her again, from her throat to her lips, now that his lips had thawed, his icy hand sliding up her jumper to rest on her lower back and eliciting a quiet moan of semi-complaint in response. “Now, are you going to let me undress, or should I just freeze to death here?” 

“I’d hoped I’d be keeping you warm,” she teased lightly, pulling away from him just enough to begin to unbutton his shirt with her free hand. “But I can help with the undressing part, if you insist.”

“I insist,” he reiterated as authoritatively as he could manage, allowing her nimble fingers to make light work of his zips and buttons and belts, each item of clothing being cast carelessly aside until he was stood in her hallway in nothing more than his question mark underpants. “New clothes, please.” 

“Well,” she purred, pretending to ponder the situation with great seriousness. “It’s the holey hoodie…” 

“Or?” he swallowed, his throat suddenly dry at the prospect of what he understood her to be insinuating. 

“Or me,” she smirked, and with that, she had jumped into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist with surprising strength and clinging to him determinedly as his arms came up to encircle her protectively. “Oops, looking to be the latter. My bad. Bollocks, you’re cold.” 

“I know,” he grinned, manoeuvring with some difficulty into the living room and sinking onto the sofa with her on his lap still, pressing his cold cheeks against her as she squealed in protest. “But you know… with a radiator like you… I think I could grow to enjoy hailstorms…”


End file.
